Showing posts with label bedrest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bedrest. Show all posts
Monday, April 29, 2013
This is a letter in response to Empowered Preemie Moms by Shaana Berman, author and friend of Preemie Resources. Her book can be found on Amazon.
| Bradley, recently. |
My name is Andrea Irving, and I am an ob/gyn physician and mother of 2 preemies. I finished reading your book 3 days ago, and I loved it. I'd like to share my story as it is vastly different than your others.
When I was pregnant with Alec, I was a resident working 90 hours a week on average. I was on my feet all day delivering babies, doing c-sections, and rounding. I worked from about 5am until 6pm daily and on the weekend, I had one 26-28 hour shift. It's a hard life, and it took its toll on me. You'll find that L&D nurses, NICU nurses, and ob/gyn's often have pregnancy issues. While I was a resident, we had a girl with PUPPP's, a guy whose wife PPROM'ed at 34 weeks, a NICU nurse whose baby had SVT and died shortly after birth, a girl who got HELLP syndrome at 30 weeks, and a few other things. Those are the things that stand out though.
I get pregnant pretty easily, so 3 months after I got my IUD out, I was pregnant with Alec. His gender was a surprise, as one of my biggest pet peeves is people who could care less that their baby has all its other parts. So to us, that was a really unimportant part, and we went gender neutral on everything. Well, I threw up until about 20 weeks, which was fine. I had trouble doing surgeries because of the nausea. I got into a car accident at 19 weeks, but everything was fine. And my asthma got totally out of control around 22 weeks. But everything was great. At about 25 weeks, I started contracting enough that my attendings noticed and sent me home. When I was 25w4d, I started a call shift. It was brutal and I could barely waddle around by the end. I was 25w6d when I went home. I fell asleep around 11am and woke up at about 5pm in a pool of blood. We rushed to Ob Triage at my hospital and I was admitted. I'd had a small placental abruption, but the baby was stable. His growth was noted to be in the 8th percentile, which is IUGR, but it was thought best to check a growth scan again in 3-4 weeks. I got a steroid window to help mature lungs and protect brain and gut. I was sent home on bed rest, much to my fellow residents' chagrin (they had to pick up my slack now), and life went on. I contracted a lot, but enjoyed my time being bored on the couch. At 29 weeks, Alec was only in the 5th percentile. At 32 weeks, he was in less than the first percentile. I got a steroid booster and was told I'd likely be induced early. At 35 weeks, he had essentially stopped growing, and I was induced at 36 weeks. Alec was born at 36w1d after a very uneventful labor and weighed 5lb even. He was only 16 1/2 inches long though. His weight dropped to 4lb6oz and he got jaundiced, so he was kept an additional day. That was hard on me. I cried and cried. But he passed his carseat test the next day and came home. We had a hip dysplasia scare, but after a negative ultrasound, everyone was reassured. He had to go to daycare at 6 weeks, which broke my heart, but I had to go back to work. He was sick a lot, but daycare babies are. Oh, and I'd had a postpartum hemorrhage, a retained placenta, and a post partum fever. I had to have a D&C to get the placenta out.
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| Alec during his apgar testing. |
The postpartum trouble started when Alec was about 4 weeks old. I felt depressed, saw my ob, and got put on an antidepressant I'd had a good experience with. It seemed to help at first, but then stopped. My doctor increased the dose. Again, it only helped for a while. I started crying all the time and fantasizing about driving my car off this overpass onto one of the freeways here in Phoenix. I started wondering if I could get my car to go fast enough to kill myself by accelerating into the telephone poles on the other sides of intersections. Then I had to stop breastfeeding suddenly due to work contraints. I started hearing voices. I knew that was abnormal, and I'd cry when it happened. It sounded like a crowd of people, like I could never be alone. My husband finally'd had enough and told one of my attendings. She sent me directly to a psychiatrist and I was diagnosed with postpartum psychosis and bipolar disorder. I was immediately put on medication and in a few days I was a new woman. I took a long time off work to recover.
Alec, of course, is no worse for the wear from this dark time in my life. I feel terrible though. I have so few memories of the first 6 months of his life. It makes me sad. But he's fine and loving, and that's what matters. His only issue was a teeny language delay. He only had about 2 or 3 words by 18 months. My sister-in-law expressed concern (her older child was really early with his language, so I think her opinion was skewed) and gave us some paperwork on assessing for speech delay. Well, I never looked at it. Literally 2 weeks after she gave us the paper, Alec was speaking in full sentences. Just goes to show how not all kids develop the same!
| Alec at 12 months. |
We had originally wanted two children, but this experience really put us off. I'd had another IUD inserted rigth at 6 weeks postpartum, so I was willing to just have one child. I was diagnosed with MTHFR C677T mutation (normal homocysteine), which depending on what literature you read, can cause IUGR and abruptions. Or not. I was also diagnosed with Sjogren's syndrome, which put the baby's heart at risk in any subsequent pregnancies. But of course, my friends started having mroe babies. And I wanted one. I got my IUD out in March or April of 2011. We decided in January of 2012, after much discussion, that we should actually try for #2. I got pregnant in February. I currently work 4 days a week for 40 hours, which is vastly different than residency!
All was well in the first trimester. Threw up a lot (until 25 weks), but otherwise fine. But then I had my NT scan and started having tons of cramps afterward. My ob put me on bedrest for 2 weeks. I was allowed to go back to work afterward for 3 half days per week. All was well for a month. Then at 17 weeks, I started spotting. Went to the ER against my better judgement (husband mae me all the after hours nurse and she wanted me to go in... sigh), and was diagnosed with a placenta previa. Was put on bedrest again. I spotted brown off and on for about 6 weeks. At 24 weeks, I woke up bleeding. I spent 3 days in the hospital and was finally allowed to go home, this time on strict bedrest.
At this point, I knew I was in trouble. I'd been followed by the MFM since 6 weeks. He didn't want me going past 38 weeks. But now I had a feeling I wouldn't even make it to 36. With a heavy heart, I got out the preemie clothes. We had tried to not know if we were having a boy or girl, but the tech for our fetal echo was sloppy and I saw a scrotum. We had fetal echocardiograms every 4 weeks due tot he risk of heart block Bradley had from my Sjogren's. I never left my bedroom, except to go to my doctor's appointments. And then at 26 weeks, I bled again in the middle of the night. Again, I didn't want to go in, but my husband and the after hours nurse made me. I went to the hospital I thought I was delivering at, which was 5 minutes from our home. I was admitted for observation, started on magnesium (again), and this time given a steroid window. When my doctor saw me later in the day, he said that I needed a higher level of care and was transferring me to a hospital with a level 3 NICU (we were at a level 2EQ). So, to my embarrassment, I was transported by ambulance. As a resident, I hated transports, and now I was one! The new hospital was about 12-15 minutes from the house. I was grouchy because the doctor told me I'd be there for the duration of my pregnancy. I got settled in my room and woke up around 6am literally gushing blood.
I called my husband, who seemed to instantaneously appear, even after having dropped our son off at a friend's. I was rushed from antepartum to L&D. Fortunately, Bradley behaved himself and my bleeding slowed down. My stepdad even drove up from out of town because he was worried. From that point, I never argued about staying in the hospital. I tried to be patient and just let things roll. I bled off and on and did crafts. My husband and 3 year old visited 1-2 times a day (my husband is a stay at home dad), which kept my spirits up. I had few other visitors, which suited me fine, as they stressed me out. No one understood that I had to be there. That Bradley or I might die waiting fro an ambulance at home if the blood came again. That Bradley might be brain damaged if such a thing happened. That Bradley might die. I watched a lot of trash tv on Netflix. Lots of movies. I continued to crochet and cross stich little bibs.
My ob actually came out of his uber-conservative shell and was going to let me go back home after having a steroid booster. So I got one shot on Friday afternoon. That evening, my boss from work came by, which was nice. No one was with me because it was expected I'd come home the next evening, so the company was appreciated. Well, I went to sleep. Woke upi around 6am 9/22 to the feeling of gushing blood and was rushed to L&D. My husband arrived eerily fast once again. This time my mother-in-law had come to help out, so no arrangements for childcare had to be made. Well, the bleeding slowed, but didn't stop. I was 4cm, laboring. Bradley looked wonderful on the monitor, so I labored. I got my epidural right away-- I've never had any illusions about my pain tolerance. I feel epidurals were a marvelous invention, but if you feel the need for pain just because cave women did it that way, so be it. So I got the epidural and my contractions slowed down. I was 6cm for hours. They broke my water, and still no change. Pitocin was started and about 30 minutes later, I was in excruciating pain and needed to push. My epidural, it seemed, was not working. At all. My doctor was not on call. His backup was at her house. The hospitalist was moseying along or something because she did not arrive instantaneously like I wanted. She got her gown and gloves on ever so slowly. I pushed and I knew exactly what my patients meant when they said they couldn't push. I felt paralyzed by pain. Next contraction came. I pushed. Then I cried and somehow he was born in about 4-5 minutes of pushing. Thank God for that. He was born at 11:53pm on 9/22. 7 minutes before I turned 34. My best birthday present ever.
He was beautiful. My first words were, "He's so big!" Maybe he wasn't to parents of termies, but he was to me. The hospitalist (who later turned out to be my new boss's wife... weird...) put him on my chest and I held him. I cut his cord (I also cut Alec's as Colin refused) and they whisked him to the isolette in the room. A moment later I heard him cry. I kept on crying. It was a beautiful sound. His APGAR's wre 8 and 9, so they brought him to me to hold before they took him to the NICU. I just couldn't get over how beautiful he was.
I called my husband, who seemed to instantaneously appear, even after having dropped our son off at a friend's. I was rushed from antepartum to L&D. Fortunately, Bradley behaved himself and my bleeding slowed down. My stepdad even drove up from out of town because he was worried. From that point, I never argued about staying in the hospital. I tried to be patient and just let things roll. I bled off and on and did crafts. My husband and 3 year old visited 1-2 times a day (my husband is a stay at home dad), which kept my spirits up. I had few other visitors, which suited me fine, as they stressed me out. No one understood that I had to be there. That Bradley or I might die waiting fro an ambulance at home if the blood came again. That Bradley might be brain damaged if such a thing happened. That Bradley might die. I watched a lot of trash tv on Netflix. Lots of movies. I continued to crochet and cross stich little bibs.
I used more and more nifedipine for contractions. Every time they were sustained, I ended up bleeding, so I got paranoid about getting my medication every 4 hours. My blood pressure creeped up and I stated spilling a lot of protein, so I was diagnosed with mild pre-eclampsia. They would continue to monitor me. Bradley continued to grow well. On the 14th of September, I was 31w2d. They decided to do another transvaginal ultrasound to check on my previa. It was gone! They attributed my bleeding to a chronic placental abruption and plans were made for me to go home with a home health nurse visiting periodically. Well, the 14th was a Friday. No one got ahold of the home health place until Monday. It wasn't covered. they wanted me to stay until they could find a company my insurance covered. I flipped out. I could check heart tones, pee on a stick, and take my own blood pressure. I was a doctor!!!! I knew just what to look for. Finally my ob relented, and I went home on the 17th.
I did cheat a little after I went home. I scheduled 4 appointments, including a breastfeeding class, a massage, and an eyebrow waxing, for Tuesday. I had 2 additional appointments for Wednesday. Thursday, I had my NST at my ob's and all was well. I was tired, but fine. Friday around 4 in the morning, I woke up bleeding a little. I was 32w2d. I checked my blood pressure and heart tones. Everything was fine. I considered not calling, but I did at my husband's insistance, and headed tot he hospital. I had a bad feeling, but didn't say anything. I got admitted, of course.
My ob actually came out of his uber-conservative shell and was going to let me go back home after having a steroid booster. So I got one shot on Friday afternoon. That evening, my boss from work came by, which was nice. No one was with me because it was expected I'd come home the next evening, so the company was appreciated. Well, I went to sleep. Woke upi around 6am 9/22 to the feeling of gushing blood and was rushed to L&D. My husband arrived eerily fast once again. This time my mother-in-law had come to help out, so no arrangements for childcare had to be made. Well, the bleeding slowed, but didn't stop. I was 4cm, laboring. Bradley looked wonderful on the monitor, so I labored. I got my epidural right away-- I've never had any illusions about my pain tolerance. I feel epidurals were a marvelous invention, but if you feel the need for pain just because cave women did it that way, so be it. So I got the epidural and my contractions slowed down. I was 6cm for hours. They broke my water, and still no change. Pitocin was started and about 30 minutes later, I was in excruciating pain and needed to push. My epidural, it seemed, was not working. At all. My doctor was not on call. His backup was at her house. The hospitalist was moseying along or something because she did not arrive instantaneously like I wanted. She got her gown and gloves on ever so slowly. I pushed and I knew exactly what my patients meant when they said they couldn't push. I felt paralyzed by pain. Next contraction came. I pushed. Then I cried and somehow he was born in about 4-5 minutes of pushing. Thank God for that. He was born at 11:53pm on 9/22. 7 minutes before I turned 34. My best birthday present ever.
He was beautiful. My first words were, "He's so big!" Maybe he wasn't to parents of termies, but he was to me. The hospitalist (who later turned out to be my new boss's wife... weird...) put him on my chest and I held him. I cut his cord (I also cut Alec's as Colin refused) and they whisked him to the isolette in the room. A moment later I heard him cry. I kept on crying. It was a beautiful sound. His APGAR's wre 8 and 9, so they brought him to me to hold before they took him to the NICU. I just couldn't get over how beautiful he was.
| Bradley at two days of life. |
My placenta didn't come. Again. I hemorrhaged. Again. Fortunately, I didn't need a D&C this time. I was able to pee after the useless epidural was taken out, so they wheeled me to the NICU. Bradley weighed 4lb5oz and was 17.75in long-- longer than his 36 weeker brother! He was breathing on his own, although tachypneic. They anticipated putting him on CPAP after he tired out. I got to hold his little hand, and then I went to my room. I immediately called for a breast pump. The lactation consultant had seen me at 27 and 31 weeks, and I knew what I had to do to get my supply in. I pumped. I got 1.7mL of liquid gold that first time. I was ecstatic.
I ventured over to the NICU after I pumped a second time and showered. My plan was to pump every 2 hours from 6am until 6pm and then every 3 hours from 6pm to 6am. People thought I was crazy, but my milk came in quickly. We got ribs and a cake for my birthday, which was obviously spent in the hospital. Unfortunately that night, the nurse called and said bradley's IV had infiltrated his TPN into his little hand and caused a chemical burn. The whole back of his hand was black and there was an ulcerated area in the center. It ended up taking about 5 weeks to heal.
Other than the IV issue, Bradley was our little rock star. He never did end up needing oxygen support or other medications. He started oral feeds on either 9/23 or 9/24. Those dates get a little blurry. He was jaundiced and had a hard time passing his meconium, but was otherwise amazing. He was on full oral feeds by day 10 of life and was moved from the NICU to the CCN (continuing care nursery, a step-down unit). Gone was our private oasis and amazing nurse. We were in a 4-bed room with new nurses to get used to. On day 2 of being in the CCN, we got to try the bottle. he ate like a champ. We brought in our own bottles from home, which they happily used. I was determined to breastfeed and didn't want even their "slow" flow nipples. I had been doing the non-nutritive breastfeeding, and Bradley had taken to it. The day after his bottle feed, I got to breastfeed him! He was amazing.
It was around this time, maybe a few days earlier, that my nipples started their issues. My old pump in style was not functioning properly and the suction was out of control. I think that may have had something to do with it. I likely started out with too small flanges, which contributed to it. And I was pumping tons from the get go. My areolas were raw. I tried every remedy imaginable. Maybe thrush, so I used gentian violet. I had 2 strengths of APNO. I had lansinoh. I used warm saline soaks. I air dried. I spead milk on them. I used ice. Nothing. Finally, my lactation consult in the NICU (God bless her) as well as an IBCLC friend who runs a physicians breastfeeding support group suggested nifedipine. They thought I might have traumatic Raynaud's of the nipple. I was also told to use the giant 36mm flanges and the APNO round the clock. Within 3 or 4 days, my nipples were healed.
Then latch issues started after we got home. In the hospital, Bradley was a great nurser. But once we were home, he started hurting and he nursed constantly. On my parenting board online someone suggested tongue tie. I looked at some pictures on Google and then in my sweet boy's mouth and wow! His tongue tie went all the way to the tip of his tongue! Not sure why no one in the NICU noticed this since he was examined daily. He also had a very thick lip tie. I have since learned these are common in families, as well as in preemies. Alec didn't have this and no one in either family did, so we can thank preemiehood. Luckliy my IBCLC friend took one look at my pictures and referred me to a pediatrician who cauterized tongue and lip ties. The tongue was done first, and I was discouraged because nothing changed. I wondered if because Bradley was 3 months old that he had developed bad habits we would have to correct. 2 weeks later the lip tie was done. Once the cauterized area healed, it was amazing! No pain! My husband reported that he had stopped screaming all day. And his need to constantly nurse stopped, as he was better able to extract the milk.
Since then, it's been mostly smooth sailing. Bradley did have a largeish umbilical hernia, which I freaked out about. I was so worried he'd need surgery, but the pediatrician said they normally just observe them, and it's so small it never pokes out anymore. He does have the worst case of eczema my pediatrician has ever seen, and that is a constant struggle for us, but we keep it in check with steroid creams and super thick lotions. My beautiful baby boy is now 14lb and 26in long. His length is average size for a 6 month old and in greater than the 99th percentile for 4 month olds. Crazy!
During my pregnancy, I never could have gotten through without 2 groups. The first group are the lovely ladies on the high risk, preemie, and birth month boards on thebump.com. They are amazing, supportive, and knowledgeable-- even for non medical people! I checked in multiple times a day every day for months. It was nice to know others were going through almost exactly the same thing as me!
The second group is sidelines.org. This is a specific support group for pregnant women on bedrest. They were a godsend. They assign you a buddy who can either call and e-mail you or just e-mail you. You chat back and forth and you don't feel so socially isolated and alone. I plan on volunteering as soon as I finish my class-- I am starting to get my CME's and experience together to get my IBCLC.
I also used an organization called Pictures of Hope. They're a fantastic, non profit organization where photographers in the community come to your NICU and take professional pictures of your baby. The sitting is free. You also get 25 4x6 prints, as well as a discount (determined by the photographer) on any additional prints you get. Our photographer drove 60+ miles from Queen Creek to Glendale to take Bradley's picture. She was wonderful. Many of the photographers are preemie moms too, so they really get it! There is a list of photographers on their website.
During Prematurity Awareness Month (November), I put one fact about prematurity on my Facebook page every day. My friends and family commented about what they learned and how shocked they were at what we went through almost every day. It was nice that they could finally understand what I meant by "adjusted age" and stuff like the challenges preemies face. There are Facebook groups for Prematurity Awareness Month, Parents of Preemies, Preemie Dads, and Preemie Resources. I'd recommend joining any or all of these groups.
I am also doing the March of Dimes March for Babies to raise money and awareness for prematurity and high risk pregnancy. It's amazing how many friends of friends have gone through a premature birth or difficult pregnancy and no one knew! So I'm marching with my friend's friend's team. Her 28 weeker is now 8 years old. She has many of the same NICU pictures I do. I am sure everyone else has these too.
I also participated in a study for the Organization for Teratology Information Services (OTIS). Basically OTIS monitors women who have drug exposures in pregnancy. You sign up for a particular study and then you track your medications, hospitalizations, and ultrasounds. I was in the rheumatoid arthritis study, the asthma study, and the vaccination study. They did follow up interviews throughout the pregnancy and a developmental pediatrician came out to examine Bradley about a month ago. He did some special measurements and was really pleased at how he was developing. That made me feel great.
We are also followed by the Neonatal Intensive Care Program (NICP) here in AZ. The nurse comes out and does home visits for 18 months + to monitor the preemies' development and can facilitate entry into the early intervention system if needed. NICP is paid for by the state, as is early intervention. So, if we need speech, occupational, physical therapy or perhaps a dietician, she can make all that happen. She encouraged us to apply for WIC (I qualified... a doctor! Love that short term disability only paying me 27% of my salary...) and social security, which paid for gas going to and from the hospital while Bradley was there. She also talked to us about deferring my student loans and credit card bills until we got back on our feet.
As an ob/gyn, I never knew about any of this. I basically came into this situation blind. I'd delivered many a preemie and put many a woman on hospital or home bedrest without thinking of the consequences of that. Now I really think of how that affects a mom and baby and family and I weigh all of my decisions carefully. I am a much more sympathetic and empathetic doctor. It was shocking to me all of the things that went along with it. Sure, we followed up on our preemie deliveries to see how they were doing, but we never got to see the human side of our actions. Having lived through it now has taught me a lot. Strangely, I am grateful for my experiences. I do want another baby, but we have agreed that Bradley is our last. We came through this experience as a family, but again, I have the guilt of "abandoning" my husband and 3 year old. Alec was great-- he enjoyed going to the "hostible" and seeing me or spending time on my sister-in-law's farm. It was a fun time for him. It was agonizing for me to miss out on our lives. I also feel like we dodged a bullet. Twice. We got lucky that we had no major complications with either of our sons, and we don't want to tempt fate. If we do, will be get a 28 weeker this time? A 24 weeker this time? IVH? ROP? NEC? Death of me or the baby? It's not worth it. I love my family too much to put them through all that again.
| Alec, now three and a half years old! |
Anyway, that's my story. It seems like a dream sometimes. I look at the NICU pictures and just shake my head at the baby Bradley has become. At the little guy Alec has become. It will stay with me forever.
Andrea Irving, D.O.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
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| First time meeting Oliver. |
My first two trimesters of pregnancy were pretty normal with all the average pains and discomforts. I started getting pretty bad swelling in the middle of my second trimester. Around week 24 I even had to get an ultrasound on my left leg because they were concerned I had a blood clot. It was around that time they started drilling the symptoms of pre-e into my head, telling me to call immediately if I started to experience them. My swelling improved a little with pressure stockings and I continued on in my pregnancy. Around week 28 I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes and was warned that this also increased my risk for pre-e. But it wasn't until around week 30 that I went in for a normal check-up and my blood pressure was very high. I was sent straight to the hospital to get a Non-stress test in labor and delivery. It was scary but after laying down for about an hour my blood pressure went down to a safe place. I was sent home and the next day I did my first 24-hour collection test. I ended up in labor and delivery the next day with really high blood pressure again. This time my NST took about 6 hours while they tried different things to get the readings they wanted from my son. Eventually they gave me IV fluids (it took them 4 tries to get the IV placed!) and was released again afterwards. From there on out I was on bed rest. I had no idea what to do with myself, I went from working over 40 hours a week managing a salon which I walked to and from every day, to not even being able to walk down to my mailbox.
The next few weeks were full of marathon napping and intense boredom and loneliness. My favorite days were the 2 days each week I would go in for NST's. They told me to have my bags packed for the hospital because any appointment may end in me being sent to deliver. They did a growth ultrasound at 34 weeks and I was told my son was already 5 lbs and would likely be around 8 or 9 if I went to 40 weeks. I was put on labetalol to try and lower my blood pressure, though it just continued to rise even as we increased my dosage. I'm really glad I was able to hold out as long as I did and that my son was already so big (from the GD I guess?). I made it to week 35 before another 24 hour collection test came back showing a high level of protein in my urine. The same day the results came back my left leg had suddenly swollen a massive amount. My OB had me go in to see her and scheduled another ultrasound for my leg. When I got to my OB's office she checked me out and tested my reflexes. My reflexes were scary jumpy, she told me she was cancelling the ultrasound on my leg and would have someone do it later on in the hospital. I was sent straight to labor and delivery to get on a magnesium drip to prevent a seizure. When we got there we had to check in, I remember the lady at the desk asked me my name and when I opened my mouth to tell her I just started crying. My husband had to check me in.
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| First snuggles at 4 days old. |
So we got settled into the hospital room. Again it took the nurses a few tries to place my IV. This was the beginning of becoming a human pin cushion for the next three days. Blood draws every 3 hours, and testing my blood sugar every hour until I had delivered. They started my induction around 6pm with prostaglandin gel, later on adding pitocin to my IV. My OB was on call at her other hospital so the on-call from her practice was in charge of me for most of my labor. I had never met her before but I am so grateful for her. I really didn't want my induction to end in a c-section and I really felt like she was on my team. I labored for 12 hours before my cervix did anything. She told me before she checked it that as long as it had done something she would let me keep laboring. I was only a fingertip dilated, which she said was less than a cm, but it was a change so she would let me keep going. I had another six hours to get to 3-4cm to have my waters broken or it was off to c-section land. Well about 5 hours later my water broke on it's own (my tiny victory!). This was also when labor really started to get unpleasant. There was lots of throwing up, my IV site was throbbing, the pitocin induced contractions sans the bag of waters were more painful than I could handle. The nurse let me get into a hot bath (with the IV, monitors, blood pressure cuff and all) but it did not help as much as I had hoped it would. So I finally agreed to an epidural. I had really wanted to "go natural". But really there is nothing natural about being induced, pumped full of magnesium and pitocin, and being strapped into bed with monitors around your stomach and a blood pressure cuff squeezing the life out of your arm every 10 minutes...so...I decided the "natural" ship had sailed anyway. After the epidural I got to relax for less than an hour before the pressure on my pelvic floor was so intense I asked the nurse to check me. 10 cm and baby at station +1! They called my OB, who got someone to cover her on-call shift at the other hospital, so she could come deliver my son. She got there an hour later and we started pushing. It took awhile, and I definitely almost fainted, but finally I pushed out my 5lb 5oz little shmooshie.
I was scared, of course, when my OB told me I had to be induced. I was nervous when she explained the odds and statistics of what most babies born at 35 weeks are like. For some reason I was really optimistic, I had not really prepared myself mentally that he might not be ok.
I remember my OB placing him on my stomach with his back to me, I reached down to touch him but immediately someone from the NICU picked him up and said "I'm taking him." There was a lot of hustle and bustle around the little baby station at the other side of the room. My husband and mother watched the nurses work and I couldn't hear my baby. I was so scared, I kept asking them what was happening but no one responded to me. Finally I started hearing baby noises. At the time I thought they were good noises but later it was explained to me they were just labored grunts from my son trying to breathe. While I laid in the bed having a tear sewn up they bundled up my son, bagged him, and wheeled him out of the room. It was like I had been in a car wreck, it happened so quick and I really wasn't expecting it and then he was gone.
I got to meet my son about an hour later (I think?) down in the nicu. He was born in respiratory distress and had some fluid retention in his lungs. The first few days were scary and confusing, the cpap was a bit of a roller coaster. People kept assuring me he was fine but then alarms kept going off and they would increase his oxygen. It took a few days but he finally got over the desats. When they switched him to the high flow nasal cannula at 4 days old I finally got to hold him. His IV came out after 6 days and he spent the rest of his nicu stay learning how to eat, a few tries at the breast but mostly the bottle. He was in the nicu for a total of 13 days.
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| Oliver's Graduation Day, unplugged and ready to peace out! |
Labels:
35 weeks,
bedrest,
epidural,
gestational diabetes,
hospital bedrest,
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pre-e
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Monday, February 11, 2013
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| Born at 25 weeks - Virginia |
Its been a year since our parenting journey started on this wild ride. The crisp mornings and early sunsets that make September different from August in the Northeast are such instinctual reminders of this time last year. It was in that month before her birth that I realized how precious life is, how important faith is, what a truly amazing husband I have, and what an incredible support system of friends and family we have.
Until 20 weeks I had a perfectly normal pregnancy. I had been working out 5-6 days a week, eating (mostly) healthy, and had perfect checkups and ultrasounds. Around 20 weeks I started to notice my tummy occasionally getting hard while I was working out or sitting for a long period of time. Initially I thought it was the baby rolling, but then realized that it was likely braxton hicks contractions. Dr. Google told me that it was normal to have them that early but it still made me nervous. I had previously had a uterine surgery (septoplasty) that I knew put me a slightly higher risk for pre-term labor and cervical issues. Because of my history I had made a plan with my OB at the first appointment to have monthly ultrasounds to monitor for any cervical changes. Once I started noticing sporadic braxton hicks contractions I called my OB and asked that we move up my scheduled ultrasound from 23 weeks to 21 weeks. He agreed and also eased my concerns stating that serious complications would be rare even with my history, but it was worth being cautious.
I was convinced that everything was fine, but was glad that I would have piece of mind after the ultrasound. Unfortunately I knew something was definitely wrong as soon as I saw the ultrasound image on the screen mounted to the wall in front of me... the baby's tiny feet were slipped down into what looked like a funnel. This is definitely not what my weekly "your baby is this big" email from babycenter.com looked like. In an instant my heart sank, my hands shook, and my mind went blank. My cervix was funneling and measuring 2.2 cm. A full 1 cm shorter than the measurement at my ultrasound 3 weeks prior. Again, my doctor put me at ease. He explained that while my cervix was effacing much earlier than normal it did not mean that I couldn't continue to have a healthy pregnancy, albeit one spent on bedrest. I felt better, composed myself and left the office determined to do everything I could do to keep the baby cooking. We canceled all of our plans for traveling to our niece's baptism and babymoon in Montauk and set up a new routine at home. I was ready to spend the next 4ish months alternating between my bed and the couch. My first week of bedrest went really well. I hardly had any braxton hicks contractions, I was able to get quite a bit of work done from home, my spirits were high, and we already had so much support. It was a week later and a week closer to a healthy baby.
Again, I walked into my OB's office pretty confident that things would be ok. I thought for sure that the measurements would either be the same or maybe even better. Afterall I had gone from being very active (including long runs and workouts) to laying around and doing nothing for a week. This time I had no idea what I was looking at when the image came up on the screen. I didn't need to though, the look on the ultrasound technician's face was an unmistakable look of sympathy. There was basically nothing left to measure and they sent me right over to the hospital for observation, testing and a possible cerclage the next morning.
The two days that followed were the hardest of our lives. We had consultations with many doctors. We were hopeful that a cerclage to stitch my cervix shut could be done, but didn't meet a single doctor willing to recommend the procedure because of the risk of sending me into immediate labor. Even the doctors that suggested that our baby had very little chance of making it to viability were unwilling to perform a cerclage. It was unbelievably confusing, scary and heartbreaking. Over those 2 days, My Husband and I talked about things that no expectant parents should have to discuss. Would we name the baby? Would we baptize the baby? Would we want to be alone? It was a relief to discuss and decide on the unimaginable and move on so we wouldn't have to make these decisions at even more emotional and stressful moments. From then on we only accepted hope and despite all the grim statistics we decided to believe that we would be okay.
We counted days, days that felt like years. Somehow days turned into a week and then another week and suddenly we had reached viability. I received steroids to help the baby's lungs mature and was moved from the general gynecology floor to the antepartum maternity floor where they were better equipped to monitor my condition. We went from desperation veiled as hope to so much hope. My first ultrasound in 2 weeks revealed that everything was the same. I was still fully effaced but was not dilated. It seemed like I had stabilized! My doctors were equally surprised and confident that it meant that I could remain pregnant for much longer than anyone expected. I was even given a discharge date of December 10th (32 weeks).
Again we were confident. No contractions, the baby was growing well, I felt good, I had a steady stream of visitors, and we were prepared to spend the next 8 weeks in the hospital. Just a few days later, late in the night on a Tuesday things deteriorated, I felt different and knew something was wrong. I will never forget the fear as I waited for the chief resident to come to my room. I shook like a leaf; fear and disbelief once again took over. The resident determined that I was 3cm dilated and my membranes were in the birth canal. In a matter of minutes they were inserting IVs into my arm and wheeling me to the labor and delivery floor. I called my Husband, who didnt hear any of the phone calls. We have no family and the area, so I ultimately had to call the police to go knock on our door to awake my husband. It must have been the scariest night of his life too, he walked into the hospital not knowing if I had already delivered. During the wee hours of the night, while in the haze and overwhelming heat of magnesium, there were ultrasounds showing that the baby was in the least favorable position of feet down, we met with anesthesiologists, met with my on call OB, met with the on call MFM and most sobering of all we met with the neonatoligist. We were once again given the statistics; survival statistics and disability statistics for a baby born at 24.5 weeks. She also attempted to prepare us for what we would see and how they would attempt to help our baby. Hours turned into shifts and then days and somehow things stabilized again. I desperately wanted to get back to my room on the antepartum floor and desperately wanted to be able eat again (I was NPO for several days while on magnesium). I felt like a ticking time bomb on the labor and delivery floor (I was) and wanted to go back to "my" room where I hoped to turn days into weeks again.
After 3.5 days in a labor and delivery room on strict bedrest (otherwise known as the the 7th level of bedrest hell where catheters, bedpans and sponge baths are very much a reality) my doctor agreed to let me go back to "my" room on strict bedrest. I told him I was ready to last another few weeks and for the first time he didn't share the same optimism. He gave it to us real. It was Friday afternoon. He was on call all weekend and said he wouldn't be going home all weekend. He didn't think I would still be pregnant when he signed off to the next OB on Sunday night and wanted to be sure he was "in house" for what would likely be an emergency situation. He anticipated that my water would break and had us prepared for a crash c-section and a very frantic but well rehearsed series of events.
By dinnertime on Friday the 21st I was back in "my" room and more importantly back in "my" bed which was far more comfortable than the beds on labor and delivery which were very clearly made for birthing babies and not for sleeping. In hindsight I was very much preparing for Virginia's immanent birth while putting on a face of strength and hope. We narrowed down names to 2 boys names and 2 girls names, something that we hadn't discussed since the series of unfathomable conversations that Heath and I had during those first 2 days in the hospital. By the next morning I knew I was going to give birth that day. I tried to convince myself otherwise, but even my favorite Resident's prediction that I would prove my OB wrong and make it to Thanksgiving was not enough to distract me from what I already knew. I called my nurse a few times and she said they weren't picking up any contractions on the monitor belts that had been strapped to my belly for the last few weeks. I called her again and asked her to page my doctor. I was right. I was 7cm dilated, as scary thought since she was still breech and a baby so small can be delivered before being the full 10cm dilated. I thankfully skipped my breakfast knowing that I would need a c-section and was soon back down in the same Labor and Delivery room.
If you have to give birth to a baby 15 weeks early, you want it to be under the most controlled and ideal circumstances. Somehow I had avoided infection and somehow my water had not broken. We were down in Labor and Delivery under fairly calm conditions. There was definite tension in the air as micropreemie births are not an every day occurrence even in the best of hospitals. The calm erupted into controlled chaos when they thought the baby was going into distress. Suddenly seconds felt like hours until I was in the OR and they confirmed that the baby was fine. Things calmed down and instead of being put under general anesthesia I held my OB's hand as they tried and tried and tried and finally succeeded at giving me a spinal. It was all so surreal- it still is. My most distinct memory of that day is laying flat on the cold operating table and looking down at my bare belly before they put up the blue screen. I could see the tips of my toes, the little pregnant belly I had in the days prior was mostly gone because the baby was so far down in my pelvis. It was so unsettling, so surreal. Heath joined me in the OR as they started the operation. He sat on the left side of my head and held my hand. Within minutes the baby was out. 11:11am. Absent was a cry that we wouldn't hear for another 8 weeks. 10 or 15 minutes later they announced it was a girl and let us know that she was successfully intubated.
The rest was hazy and none of it mattered. It was a new fight, a fight that I unfortunately could no longer fight for Virginia. We could only hope, pray and BELIEVE that she would fight. This is the end of this story and the beginning of the most amazing story I have ever known.
You can read Alyssa's full account of her birth story on her blog.
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Thursday, October 11, 2012
I wish I had written this sooner as I worry now that some of
the details are getting a little too fuzzy, but looking back a year later it
all still seems so surreal. I wasn’t strong enough till now to do this, so it
just had to wait.
A little background about me, ever since I found out as a
child that tiny preemies could be kept alive in safe plastic boxes, I was
fascinated. I went to the library and checked out every book I could find, I
poured over newspaper and People stories about every set of multiples featured
and longed for more details of these mysterious NICU stays. I decided I was
going to be a Neonatologist.
18 years later my dreams had almost come true. I was in my
last year of Pediatric Residency, married to the man of my dreams, and finally expecting
my own baby. My experiences had led me away from planning for a career in
Neonatology (I had found my calling as a General Pediatrician instead), but I
had loved every minute in the NICU in residency. I loved saving the day by
helping a baby take those first precious breaths. I found meaning in those
early am hours writing pages of medication and transfusion orders diligently
trying to save a tiny patient. But nothing was better than months later when I
found out they had gone home. I also witnessed loss first hand. Gut wrenching,
heart breaking, sob inducing, loss. Way more loss than I knew I could handle on
a daily basis. Neonatology was amazing, but not the career for me.
These experiences armed me with information but also fear of
the unknown as I faced my own pregnancy knowing all too well the things that
could go wrong. I put on a brave face and told my colleagues, friends, and
family that I was staying positive and focusing on how well it was all going,
but having faced an early loss with my first pregnancy I was not in denial
about the possibility of complications.
Weeks 16-19 were blissful. Morning sickness had finally
abated, my belly was growing, and my face was beaming. Residency was drawing to
a close and I felt on top of the world. I began noticing tightening of my belly
periodically which I attributed to early movements. Over the next few days
these sensations got more rhythmic, and I started to worry. I spoke with the OB
triage nurse and she sent me in for lab work. It looked like I had a UTI. A
week of antibiotics later and the contractions had not abated, so I went in
again. My midwife told me that she thought my cervix was shortened so they sent
me over to L&D, I was about 22 weeks along.
I called my husband on the walk over. I calmly explained in
greater detail what I had hinted about in our discussions over the last few
weeks. Our baby was pre-viable, if I went into labor now, there was little that
could be done. Forever my rock, he assured me that things would be fine but
that he would leave work in case. It was the longest elevator ride of my life.
My thoughts raced thinking about the little wiggly being inside of me and the
what-ifs. My heart was heavy thinking of all the internet friends whose stories
started like this and ended in loss and heartbreak. I was one of the lucky
ones. The exam had been wrong. My cervix was long and closed. They told me that
this was my “new normal.” They said that if things changed with my contractions
I would know and should come in.
The next few weeks were full of excitement. My belly seemed
to grow by the day, my pregnancy passed that precious viability milestone, and
I started a new job. I was again on top of the world. Then one afternoon the
contractions picked up. I started timing them and was having them every 3-8
minutes and at least 6-7 times in an hour. I called my husband at work. He left
immediately and we drove in to L&D in the city. They checked me and
confirmed the regularity of my contractions. This time I was 1cm dilated. They
admitted me even though I wasn’t changing my cervix to be careful. I received steroids to help with lung
maturity. They ordered the standard NICU consult. When two of my favorite
neonatologists walked in I almost lost it. It was so surreal. They were sweet and
supportive and told me to get back home ASAP. They went through things in
detail for my husband, I wanted to make sure he heard the full talk. They tried
many different meds but nothing consistently worked. I continued to contract but
stayed a 1cm. Because my tracings also looked good they felt reassured and sent
me home after 2 days.
I stayed on bedrest for about a week, only leaving the house
one time a day for less than an hour each time. Friends covered shifts at work
sending worried email encouraging me to do everything possible to keep my baby
inside. I busied myself ordering things online for the nursery and using my
precious daily excursion to buy things for the “Preterm Labor” bag I was
getting packed, just in case. My contractions continued unchanged. At my follow
up appointment we discussed the risks and benefits of bedrest and decided that
going back to work while limiting standing and drinking lots of water was the
plan that made the most sense. I went back to work and felt great to be moving
again. My contractions remained unchanged and I was relieved. I was so
exhausted from the sleepless nights and days of worrying that working again was
a welcomed distraction.
On September 9th I slept in late. I slowly got
ready for my afternoon shift, pausing to take a bump picture to post to my
board on The Bump as I had many weeks before. Work was a little busy, but I
managed to finish early. At home I changed into comfy clothes, ate dinner on
the couch with my husband and turned on some mindless TV. Soon after dinner I
had 3 contractions in a row that seemed different. I was breathing though each
one and they were concentrated lower than any of my contractions before. I told my husband to start timing them. After
an hour of contracting every five minutes I got up to go to the bathroom and
get myself ready to possibly go in. I was bleeding… a lot. I screamed for James
to grab the bag and camera and threw on clothes.
The drive in felt like it took hours. I was cursing every
red light and praying for my little guy to move and let me know he was ok. We
rushed in to triage and they seemed a lot less concerned this time. They
confirmed my contraction pattern and did an ultrasound. My cervix was long and
my little man was moving like crazy. They said they were going to send me home.
Just before I started to get ready to put my clothes back on the resident
returned and said, “I want to do a pelvic exam just to confirm, is that ok.” She
lingered a while and finally looked at me and said, “You’re 3 cm dilated. I
think we’re going to keep you.” After a long discussion that I could last many
weeks at 3 cm they transferred me to an antepartum room. They started
magnesium, which they never had with my first admission since I was never in
labor.
The contractions got steadily stronger and closer together.
They checked me again and I was still 3cm but more effaced. This confirmed
labor, but the team was still hopeful. The NICU attending came and talked with
us, reassuring us that 29 weeks was much better than 27 weeks but still
prepared us for a rocky start and lifetime risks of cerebral palsy, learning disabilities,
and other problems. My husband stayed by my side squeezing my wrist to try to
distract me from my contractions. I wanted to walk, scream, move, anything to
make the contractions bearable but I was chained to my bed by the monitors and
web of IV tubing. They flooded me with fluids and I dreaded to get up to go to
the bathroom because every time there was more blood. I passed huge clots and
panicked, my nurses tried to be reassuring.
Around 2am my husband hit his breaking point. He could no
longer keep pressure on my wrist to distract me because his fingers were numb.
He knew that my contractions were more frequent and lasting longer and he was
worried. “They’re not doing anything. How long do they expect us to go on like
this. I can’t take it.” We spoke to my nurse and she sent the team in. “You’re
6 cm dilated now” they told us, “there’s nothing we can do. Your baby is going
to be born today.” I decided to get some pain meds and eventually an epidural
so we could rest. They transferred me from antepartum to LDR. Reality hit.
We cried. We called our parents and asked for prayers. My
dad and his wife promised to be on a plane within the next 24 hours. We slept.
I woke up with increasing pressure around 12:30pm. They
checked me and I was 8cm. I cried some more. As I calmed I realized there was
no changing the moment, no going back to the bliss of thinking this could all
be stopped, that this wouldn’t be our story. I became resolved. I told my
husband that we needed to cheer up and focus on our baby, this was his birthday
after all. We talked to him, telling that he had to come out and be a NICU
rockstar not a wimpy white boy (white males in the NICU have the worst
outcomes). We told him how excited we were to meet him even though it was
earlier than we had planned.
I stayed at 9-9.5cm for several hours. My water hadn’t broken and that was slowing my labor. I had lots of pressure and was freaked out that the delivery might happen quickly without the right people assembled. I had been to emergencies in the LDR rooms before and knew that they never went as well as when sick babies were greeted by a fully assembled NICU team in the safety of the resuscitation room that adjoined the ORs. My doctors agreed to move me into the OR and break my water there.
I stayed at 9-9.5cm for several hours. My water hadn’t broken and that was slowing my labor. I had lots of pressure and was freaked out that the delivery might happen quickly without the right people assembled. I had been to emergencies in the LDR rooms before and knew that they never went as well as when sick babies were greeted by a fully assembled NICU team in the safety of the resuscitation room that adjoined the ORs. My doctors agreed to move me into the OR and break my water there.
As they wheeled me down the hall, I yelled, “let’s go have a
birthday party” and joked with the nurses about my “birth plan.” “I want
immediate skin to skin, no bath for 24 hours, and exclusive rooming in. This
ugly surgical cap was NOT part of the plan!” I knew if I wasn’t laughing I
would be crying. As we settled into the OR, my thoughts raced to crash
c-section I knew they were preparing for. I eyed the surgical tech in the
corner of the room and willed her to stay put. They broke my water and his
heartrate stayed up!
The pediatric team came in to say hi. The senior resident, who had been the year behind me in residency and the fellow, who had been my classmate, looked worried. “It’s ok guys!” I reassured them, “This little guy is going to be a rockstar!” The OBs told them to go and they would call them when delivery was more imminent, “We’re not going anywhere!” The senior resident said. I was immensely grateful. I knew how the minutes could drag by standing around waiting for a delivery while your mind raced to all the orders and notes waiting for you in the NICU, but their presence was reassuring. I trusted them.
The pediatric team came in to say hi. The senior resident, who had been the year behind me in residency and the fellow, who had been my classmate, looked worried. “It’s ok guys!” I reassured them, “This little guy is going to be a rockstar!” The OBs told them to go and they would call them when delivery was more imminent, “We’re not going anywhere!” The senior resident said. I was immensely grateful. I knew how the minutes could drag by standing around waiting for a delivery while your mind raced to all the orders and notes waiting for you in the NICU, but their presence was reassuring. I trusted them.
The shrill ring of monitor alarms brought the OBs to their
feet. My little guy’s heartrate had dropped as he was pushed further down the
birth canal by my contractions. “Time to
push!” the high risk OB told me. As I pushed, the alarms sounded again, I backed
off. “Harder” they yelled, and the contraction passed. This repeated 3 more
times. Then they asked, “is there some reason you’re not pushing very
hard? He’s very little, you should be able to get him out easily. He needs to
come out now.” “But his heartrate keeps dropping” my voice quivered, “I feel
like I’m going to kill him.” A look of recognition spread across their faces,
they were treating a fellow healthcare professional who knew all too well what
those alarms meant. “We’ll turn the sound off. We won’t let you kill him. Push
with all your might and we’ll tell you when to back off.”
A few pushes later I felt his tiny body slip from mine. I
looked down and my son, Henry Oliver, stared right back at me and then let out
a scream. “Oh my God,” I cried, “He’s beautiful.” He let out one more tiny cry
and was passed off through a window to the waiting NICU team.
The next few hours were some of the longest of my life. The
NICU team worked to stabilize Henry. He
needed to be intubated and his blood pressures were low. James went to see him
and came back with pictures. I was jealous. I went down to the NICU as soon as
I was physically able, but the team was putting in umbilical lines so Henry was
draped. I sat in my wheelchair for a while watching the numbers on his monitor
go up and down, listenting to the familiar whoosh of the ventilator breaths,
willing something, someone to tell me he was going to be alright. Heartbroken,
I asked to be taken back to my room. I got there and broke down sobbing. He
didn’t feel like mine, my baby. It felt like I was watching over another tiny
patient.
Pumping became my solace, the one thing I could do, but even that was mostly discouraging. The next morning brought good news. Henry was doing better and would be extubated. Hours after being extubated his nurse lifted his tiny fragile body out of the protection of his isolette and placed him on my bare chest. As he wiggled into a position of comfort, I cradled his tiny bottom in my hand. Our heartrates both slowed and I knew it, he was mine. These were the tiny feet that kicked my ribs and this tiny bum was unmistakably the one that had been dancing inside me for months. I was his mom.
Pumping became my solace, the one thing I could do, but even that was mostly discouraging. The next morning brought good news. Henry was doing better and would be extubated. Hours after being extubated his nurse lifted his tiny fragile body out of the protection of his isolette and placed him on my bare chest. As he wiggled into a position of comfort, I cradled his tiny bottom in my hand. Our heartrates both slowed and I knew it, he was mine. These were the tiny feet that kicked my ribs and this tiny bum was unmistakably the one that had been dancing inside me for months. I was his mom.
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bedrest,
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Saturday, August 4, 2012
My pregnancy was going perfect. Had nothing wrong with anything, baby was growing great, I wasn't gaining too much weight. Just had normal aches and pains, nothing more. That all changed on April 30, 2012. I was 34 weeks exactly. I woke up swollen. My feet hurt if you touched them. This had never happened before. The swelling had always gone down overnight and my blood pressure has always been fine. Well, I took my blood pressure. 154/80. WHAT?! I called the doc to see if he wanted to see me earlier than my 11am appointment. They had me come in at 10. My BP at the office was 165/90. There was a little protein in my urine. My nurse, Linda, had me lie on my left side. She came back and my BP had dropped to 120/85. When my OB came in, he checked my cervix and I was slightly dialted and a little effaced. He put me on strict bed rest. Before I left we did an NST and ultrasound, both came back perfect. I had to do a 24 hour urine and was given BP medicine. I was to monitor my BP twice a day and if it got over 160 then I was to go straight to L&D. Our goal was to make it 3 more weeks to 37 weeks. I ended up in the hospital the next night and was observed overnight just to be discharged with a diagnosis of pre-e. I wasn't to move off the couch except to go to the bathroom or to my bed. Just great, I'm going to go crazy. When I went back to my OB's office on Friday of that week, he sent me directly to L&D because my BP wasn't getting better. I was going to be in the hospital until I delivered this baby. I felt perfectly fine but couldn't do anything. It was very frustrating. On May 7th I told my nurse that I thought my mucus plug had come out and they didn't seem concerned. The goal was now to get to 36 weeks which was Sunday May 13th. We can do this I thought. Well, 4am on May 8th rolled around and my LO had a different idea. My water broke. I didn't start feeling labor until around 1pm, 3 hours after they started pitocin. I didn't have to have mag because as soon as my water broke my BP went down. It was strangly good. At 3pm I was dialated to 4 so I got my epidural. By 530pm I was pushing! Mind you, this is my first, they never expected me to move that quick. At 7:17pm Evelyn Marie was born at 4lb 11oz and 18in long. She was perfect. Absolutley nothing wrong. She spent one week in the special care nursery as a feeder/grower. What a blessing she is!
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Thursday, August 2, 2012
When I found out I was pregnant I knew I wanted to breastfeed. The thought of feeding my child any other way never crossed my mind. I even had conversations with a few friends who were also pregnant at the time. They had mentioned their desire to breastfeed as well but also their fear that it just wouldn't work out. That thought never crossed my mind.
While this is a story about my success with breastfeeding a preemie I need to start with sharing a bit of Isaac's birth story with you. My pregnancy was going great. Until the last trimester. Enter high blood pressure, pre-eclampisa and bed rest. Add in a baby that quit growing and you have a 3 pound 4.5 ounce baby born at 35 weeks.
I had a few strikes against me right from the start. First of all, I had to have a c-section. I had no labor at all. The combination of having Isaac early and the c-section confused my body. I mean I was still suppose to be pregnant after all. My body didn't know right away that I had had a baby.
Before Isaac was born they told me if things looked okay we'd be able to try and breastfeed and do skin to skin within the first hour after he was born. Unfortunately he was having problems breathing in his own. So there was no way we could try breastfeeding or do skin to skin. Enter strike two.
Strike three is probably the hardest of them all. Isaac needed a NICU. The hospital we were at didn't have one. So he had to be airlifted to a NICU 1.5 hours away. I didn't see him for three days.
I started pumping within an hour of Isaac's birth. I continued to pump every 2 hours during the day and every 3-4 hour at night. For the first two days it was all about signaling the body that it was time to produce milk. I didn't get anything from pumping except a few drops every once it awhile. It was very discouraging. At one point I got about half an ounce and I wanted to jump for joy. By the time I was released from the hospital I was probably producing less than an ounce a day. Whatever I managed to get with pumping I would save for Isaac. Pumping was extremely hard to do simply because there was no emotional connection. I was able to hold Isaac once before he was airlifted. Not being able to see my child made things extremely hard. Looking at pictures helped. But it was still hard.
When Isaac and I were reunited it was still to soon for him to try nursing. He was still really little and slept a majority of the time. So I continued to pump. The NICU had a room with a pump so I was able to stay at the hospital as much as possible. We tried to do skin to skin when we could and finally when Isaac was a week old I met with the lactation consultant, LC, for the first time. She helped me with getting him latched and told me what cues and signals that I needed to look for ensure he was sucking and swallowing. I was watching for raised eyebrows and ear wiggles. That's how I knew Isaac was swallowing.
Once we started nursing I wanted to do it all the time but I couldn't. Isaac was still really little and still slept a ton. Nursing was something that really pooped him out. He rarely ever cued that he was hungry so it really was all about going through the motions. Once Isaac was nursing successful with one feeding we increased it to two. We continued to increase the feedings when he did well. It didn't always go well though and it was emotionally draining on those days. Somedays he'd show no interest in nursing at all. Sometimes he'd get latched on but wouldn't do anything but sit there and he wouldn't eat. When he did nurse he's eat for a few minutes and then fall asleep. We kept working at it though and I met with the LC many times. I continued to pump the same amount I was before. Every 2 hours during the day and every 3-4 hours at night. When Isaac nursed I'd pump afterwards.
I'll be honest. Nursing in the NICU kinda sucks. We were put on schedules of when I had to try nursing. Typically they were always on the hour but they wanted me there 30 minutes before just in case Isaac was wanting to eat before. If they wanted me to try nursing at 8am they wanted me there at 7:30 just in case. He had to be awake to eat and sometimes he'd be sleepy. Sometimes he wouldn't wake up, even when we tried to wake him. After every time he was awake and nursed they'd ask me how it went. They'd ask me if I thought he ate enough and if I thought he needed more. I was a first time mom. I had no idea. There was so much pressure. Most of the time they'd give Isaac more milk through a feeding tube. When we were first trying to teach him to nurse they usually give him a few tube feeds in between our nursing sessions. I really just wanted to feed him on demand. I wanted to feed him when he was showing signs of hunger, but it can't be done that way. Not when you have a tiny baby on your hands.
Isaac was released when we were able to successfully nurse a full day. They took his feeding tube out and we (my husband and I) roomed in with Isaac. He was released the next day. Isaac and I continued struggle at home with latching on and the length of nursing but we weren't bound by schedules so it made things a lot easier. When Isaac came home the LC told me to keep up with the pumping after every feeding and then drop a pumping session every few days. I am not sure why they wanted me to do this but as a first time mom I listened. It created an oversupply issue which made nursing even more challenging. I was almost always engorged which would often cause milk to get everywhere whenever Isaac would try to nurse. I did some research and spoke with the LC who told me to stop pumping and then try block feeding. I had to nurse from one side for several hours while leaving the other side alone. Then after 2-3 feedings I nursed from the other side. It was an extremely painful process. But it was corrected after a few days.
Isaac is almost five months old and we still need to use the cross cradle hold because he still needs my support with his head. Sometimes we are able to do the cradle hold but not very often. A majority of the time he is able to get latched on right away with no issues but it took a long time for us to get to that point. His nursing sessions are never very long. Usually only 10-15 minutes. Sometimes a little longer. And he rarely nurses from both sides. At first I was concerned, especially in the NICU because all the classes and books say 15-20 minutes on one side and 10-15 on the other side. But he was always getting enough. I guess the books and classes are wrong sometimes. It was a long process and there were so many times I wanted throw in the towel. It was really hard but I just couldn't allow myself to do that. Now I look back at everything we went through and I am so proud that we managed to beat every obstacle that came before us.
Don't give up! Just keep working at it! You won't regret it!
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bedrest,
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c-section,
high blood pressure,
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pre-e,
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Friday, July 20, 2012
![]() |
| Tony, one year. |
My birth story is a sad and scary one. I had no trouble getting pregnant, both times
conceiving in less than 2 months. But
keeping a fetus alive, proved to be a nearly impossible task for me. I had horrible morning sickness and fatigue
with my daughter. They overshadowed the
joy I felt expecting a new baby and left me feeling extremely guilty for not
enjoying her more during her albeit brief life when I delivered her, already
deceased, at 18 weeks gestation. I’ve
never known such darkness in my life.
Nothing brought me comfort.
Six weeks after delivering her, my second round of test
results were back with an almost certain cause for the late miscarriage, a
septate uterus, which had apparently corrected itself according to my MRI. So my perinatologist and OB/GYN gave me the
all-clear to attempt another pregnancy and assured me I would not experience
the same issues or be put on bed rest.
(I had asked about the bed rest because a close friend had spent several
months bed ridden with her first child.)
I was desperate to put the bad feelings behind me.
We started trying that night. I went back to work from maternity leave the
following day.
Nineteen days later, exactly two months after learning my
daughter was no longer alive inside me, I tested positive for a second
pregnancy. In sharp contrast to my first
pregnancy, I was terrified rather than elated.
Were we ready? How could I love
another baby as much as I loved my daughter?
What if this one died too? You
can’t replace a baby.
But I was happy to have a second chance. This time, I’d be a better mom.
Two weeks later, I hemorrhaged.
The on-call doctor didn’t seem to care that I was bleeding
and pregnant. “This happens
sometimes. Most of the time it is
implantation bleeding and does not cause a problem. But if it is a miscarriage, there is nothing
we can do about it,” she told me matter-of-factly, as if she were talking about
a lost book or something. I left her
office feeling helpless. But she had
prescribed pelvic rest, and that I could control. So I did my best to take it easy and wait for
the bleeding to stop.
When I followed up with my OB at my dating ultrasound the
following week, she reiterated the on-call doctor’s diagnosis and
recommendation and said to call if it happened again. It did the next day-- a week after the first
time-- and again a few days later. No
doctor seemed to care. My perinatologist
agreed with both OBs at our scheduled meeting a week later, after all, I was
only 7 weeks pregnant and miscarriages are common around that time. Three days later, it was like someone had
turned the faucet on…I bled for an hour, saturating pad after pad. The phone nurse seemed very nonchalant about
the bleeding when I called around 10:30 PM and asked me to make an ultrasound
appointment in the morning. When I
arrived, they rushed me to the perinatologist’s office for the ultrasound,
after which I was given the bad news: I had a subchorianic hemmhorage, and I
would be on strict bed rest from the time I arrived home until it healed, which
in most cases takes about 1-2 months time.
It didn’t heal.
At 13 weeks, I had been hemorrhaging less often than in my
early weeks of bed rest, so I was allowed to modify my bed rest to take the
stairs a couple times per day and take a reasonable shower. (On strict bed rest, I got 5 minutes, which
isn’t really long enough to do anything other than wash my long hair.) That Wednesday, I had the worst pain yet,
coming and going and squeezing my torso with immense strength. All I could do was scream from the pain. I called the OB because surely something was
different. My husband rushed me to the
clinic for an emergency ultrasound. The
technician was doing regular clinic hours that day, thank goodness, but she was
my high risk ultrasound technician usually.
She was surprised to see me and even more surprised by the shrieking I
was doing. (They wouldn’t even let me
sit in the lobby because I was scaring the other patients!) She had a nurse run to get the on-call doctor
shortly after beginning the exam.
This
could not be good.
The doctor did a quick pelvic exam upon arrival to the
small, dim room. All the healthcare
professionals stepped out of the room together afterward. My husband, our unborn baby, and I were alone
in the very scary ultrasound room—the same room that had brought us happiness
just seven weeks earlier at our dating ultrasound. When they returned, the OB said the words
etched in my memory, “Your placenta has abrupted. Your uterus is as hard as a rock. You will not be pregnant by the morning. I’m scheduling a D&C for tomorrow.”
“Like hell you are!”
I screamed, “His heartbeat is 156!
And I’m far enough I can labor through it, so that is what I’m going to
do. This is NOT my first miscarriage!”
“If we allow that, you will most likely bleed to death.”
“Well then, I guess I’m going to bleed to death because
you’re not taking my baby!”
“We’re not going to let that happen.” And the doctor excused himself to give us some
privacy to deal with the emotions. At
that moment, I stopped caring about the pain.
A strange calm washed over me as I resigned to bring my baby to life or
die trying. We called our pastor. And they admitted me to the hospital attached
to the clinic.
A few hours later, full of IVs and resignation, I was
approached by the same doctor. He
delivered the best news of the day, “There’s still hope.” My contractions had stopped, the bleeding had
eased, and the baby still had a strong heartbeat. When pastor arrived, we shared the good news
and prayed. I was released the following
day, prescribed strict bed rest until delivery.
As the weeks progressed, the hemorrhages happened less
frequently but more intensely. I would awaken
in a pool of my own blood some nights, so I began sleeping on a towel. We rushed to the ER several times as I
cramped violently and passed blood clots the size of my fist. When this would happen, I typically vomited,
became light-headed, and got to the floor as quickly as possible to avoid the
dangerous fall that would come if I lost consciousness. I cannot describe the terror I felt crawling
back to the toilet, plastic cooking spoon in hand (don’t worry, this was its
final purpose in our home) to scoop the clot out of the toilet and check for
gray fetal tissue. No one can ever get
used to that.
But things were looking up.
My perinatologist felt that by 19 weeks, I did not need to be seen every
week anymore. I dropped from weekly
ultrasounds to every 3 weeks because baby was growing and developing
nicely. When Viability Day came at 24
weeks, we celebrated with sparkling grape juice.
The morning of my 25 week appointment, I awoke in the early
morning as a large clot punched through my cervix. “I’ll be admitted today,” I told my husband
as I returned to bed. So he made
arrangements to take me to my afternoon ultrasound. We were in the perinatologist’s office all of
a minute after the ultrasound. We had
discussed this possibility before, so all he had to do was reiterate what was
happening.
My hospital room was clinical and lonely, but it was a
single room, something I’m eternally grateful for. I know that I could not have handled a happy
nursing mother bedding next to me; I could barely handle hearing the healthy
babies cry in the hallway. We had a
lovely nurse at check-in who made a deal with me, “As long as you stay
pregnant, you get cheesecake.” I was
once again hooked up to IVs and monitors, and I received a round of steroid
shots preparing for imminent delivery in the next few days.
Three weeks later, I was still pregnant and still in my
hospital room, the closest room to the OR.
By now, I had decorated and befriended many members of the hospital
staff. A “chain of love” in green, cream,
and pink (the only colors available on the craft cart for some reason)
festooned my walls, one link per day of bed rest so far and one link for each
day I hoped to stay pregnant. I looked
forward to my hot lunches, since I’d spent most of the last few months eating
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and cereal.
Don’t get me wrong, I had plenty of days I was angry and did not want to
talk to the staff or visitors, but I did my best to stay positive. The pet therapy program helped a lot. I would get random visits from various dogs
during my stay. But I kept holding out
to meet the pony—that’s right, I said pony!
![]() |
| "...that's right, I said a pony!" |
Now at 28 weeks, I’d been complaining that the blood didn’t
seem like blood anymore, too clear and too constantly gushy. So my nurse did a test for my water being
broken. (I’d battled low fluid for a
long time, so no one was concerned before this.) Barely a minute into the test, which is
supposed to take several, she confirmed that I was leaking amniotic fluid
pretty heavily. So I got more IVs, more
steroids, and more scared.
Again, I avoided having the baby when everyone thought I
would. After a week, my perinatologist
let me have the IV ports out again until necessary and gave me the best news
I’d had in a while, “If you are still pregnant a week after your water breaks
without infection, there is a good chance you can make it to 34 weeks. That is as far as I will let you go, though
because at that point the potential detriment will outweigh the potential good
of staying pregnant.” So we continued.
Three weeks later, my husband brought me Olive Garden
takeout to celebrate our second anniversary.
I turned down my hospital dinner, including the cheesecake that was to
be my dessert. That night, I went to
sleep with some nasty indigestion and a loving husband kissing me goodnight and
heading home.
In the morning, I still had the indigestion when I woke up,
so I waddled to the bathroom. That
brought me no relief, so I called the nurse.
It was early, about 2 hours before shift change, so she got there fairly
quickly. “Let’s put you on the monitor,”
she suggested. After about an hour, she
came back to check on me and said she wasn’t concerned because she didn’t see
any contractions. But I felt worse, so I
asked if the on-call OB could stop by.
He had just finished a delivery, so he came in a little while
later. I stayed on the monitor while I
waited.
He had come to be one of my favorite on-calls because on
weekends, he would sometimes bring in his terrier, a spunky little pooch with a
skull-and-cross-bones scarf. I think the
dog was as excited to see me as I was him.
He did not have his dog with him that day, though; it was a
Tuesday. He put his hand on my belly and
watched the monitor. Soon I was crying
from the pain; then it eased. Again
crying, then eased. “You are having
contractions,” he said, “I don’t know why they are not registering on the
monitor.”
“Am I in labor, then?”
I asked. I had been texting my
husband since I woke with pain, and I needed to text him soon if I was in labor
because otherwise he would leave for work.
“It’s almost shift change.
I’ll let the next on-call check for labor. He should be here in a few minutes.”
I texted my husband who had already taken off work because
he was so concerned by my messages. He
was there before the next OB arrived.
Sure enough, when the next OB did a pelvic exam, I was 4 cm dilated and
90% effaced. “You’re in labor,” he said.
“Give me some drugs,” I said, “I’m having a cesarean because
baby is breech and want to be in as little pain as possible.”
He made me wait while he got an ultrasound machine to
double-check baby’s position. Yes, baby
was still frank breech, as if to stop my body’s numerous attempts to end the
pregnancy early.
Soon, I was shaved, prepped with IV ports, and briefed on
what would happen in surgery. My OB met
us in the OR. I was grateful for the
release from my bed prison, despite my concerns for my baby’s health and
well-being as a 31 week preemie. The
surgery went quickly. My husband almost
didn’t make it into the room in time for the actual birth.
My son, Tony’s
cries were the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard! Many preemies don’t cry right away because
their lungs aren’t fully developed, so I was a little surprised and extremely
grateful he came out crying. His weren’t
fully developed either, but the steroid shots helped to mature them as much as
possible. “Tony, be brave! I need you to be brave! I love you!” I called to him. He was attended to by a team of neonatal
specialists who showed him to me momentarily before whisking him away to the
NICU while my doctors stitched me up and sent me to post-op for a few hours.
![]() |
| Tony at birth with his new friend, Pooh. |
Waiting to see him was hard.
My husband followed him to the NICU and took some pictures until the
NICU staff asked him to leave the room while they intubated the baby. He came back to visit me and show me
pictures, answering all my questions about how he looked and smelled as well as
what was happening down the hall in the NICU.
Tony weighted a whopping 3 lbs. 11 oz. and was just shy of 16 inches
long. I did not get to visit him for an
eternity—ok, a couple of hours of post-op—and I when I did, I was wheeled to
the NICU still in my bed as the epidural wore off. He was beautiful! And he knew my touch.
I could only stay with him for a short time because he
needed his sleep, and I needed to pump.
While I was in between visits with Anthony, the pony came for pet
therapy, as if she’d waited to meet me, so she could celebrate with me.
Having a baby in the NICU was tough. After 6 months of bed rest, my muscles had
atrophied. Any mother who’s had a
cesarean can attest that the first few days are full of intense pain at the
surgery site, but I could barely walk 100 feet before the surgery. My nurses encouraged me to walk my wheelchair
down to the NICU to regain strength. I
would walk as far as I could and get a push the rest of the way.
I held Tony for the first time on his third day of
life. He was only on the ventilator for
2 days, which was the main reason we were not able to hold him the first 2
days. Holding him was incredible! But I cramped up really badly from the
oxytocin release and had to stop after only about 15 minutes. My husband held him that night.
Over the next six weeks, we had our share of ups and downs
but mostly positives. We tried
breastfeeding around two weeks old (33 weeks gestational age), which was a mix
of emotions. Tony knew exactly where his
mouth should go, I’ll always remember the sweet look on his face as he looked
up at me, mouth agape, as if to say, “I’ve got my mouth in the right spot;
where’s my milk?” Alas, he just could
not get enough suction. We had some help
from nurses and lactation consultants, but he just did not get the hang of
it. After about 2 weeks of trying, we
decided to try a bottle so that we could take him home when he got the hang of
eating. He did much better with the
synthetic nipple, though he was able to suckle my breast for a few minutes
before we left the NICU. He did not
successfully nurse without a nipple shield until he was 3.5 months old (1.5
months adjusted age).
He was put on CPAP after the ventilator for a few days
before going to a nasal cannula that stayed until he was 6 months old (4 months
adjusted age). He hated the tubes
attached to his face and would try to pull them off. He did this until the cannula came off. I hated having to put it on him.
He spent about two days under the phototherapy lights
because his bilirubin levels were too high.
He had an orangey color. And he
wore a little eye mask that made him look like a movie star tanning while he
was under the light. He was in an
isolette at the time to reduce the amount of stimuli around him to help him
sleep.
He had lots of tests to make sure he was healthy. He had ultrasounds on his head to check for
bleeding; thank God there was none!
Several times, the respiratory therapists tried to take him off oxygen,
but his blood oxygen levels always dropped.
And he had a chest ultrasound because of a heart murmur. His hearing test came back normal, and he
passed his car seat test.
Near the end of his NICU stay, he had an eye exam, which was
horrible! I was asked to leave the room
while the ophthalmologist did the exam because he cried so much. When I came back, Tony was limp and
unresponsive. He had had his
circumcision and the chest ultrasound that day as well. The neonatal team tried to assure me he was
just tired, but he was not acting like he normally did, even tired. This is probably my worst memory of the
NICU. I picked him up and held him while
the nurse jabbered at me about who knows what.
I was angry that he was so unresponsive—what had they done to my sweet
little boy?! “Please leave us,” I
implored the nurse. I held him close and
kissed him. When the doctors came in, I
was still pretty upset. They had
scheduled too much for my little guy.
And he would not eat, which was our last big hurdle before he came
home. I did not want this to set him
back. His feeding tube had been removed,
and now they were threatening to replace it for a few days. I was devastated and angry, so I told the
doctors why I was upset. They said that
they’d do what they could to make sure Tony could come home as soon as
possible. And the home health nurse
brought us our oxygen concentrator and taught us how to use it and our apnea
monitor.
The next day, we were able to room in with Tony. It was a long night, since the apnea monitor
we had received turned out to be faulty and false-alarmed numerous times
throughout the night. Within a few
hours, we had to disconnect it and use a hospital monitor because the alarms
were so frequent. My husband and I were
so scared every time. But otherwise, the
room-in went well, and we received a new monitor the next morning.
We stayed until early afternoon that day, a Saturday in
mid-August. We filled out our paperwork,
said farewell to the nurses, doctor, and other staff, and packed up all the
stuff we got to take home. It was
emotional taking him home for the first time.
We were happy to have him close to us but very scared to bring him home
in less than perfect health. The first
night, no one really slept in our house.
We were too nervous, and Tony was in the newborn phase, waking to eat
every few hours. But we eventually found
our groove and learned how to care for him calmly and rationally.
![]() |
| The chain of love around Tony's room. |
As a one year old, he is still behind on some things
developmentally, but he is happy and well-adjusted. He pulls himself to standing, communicates
his needs and wants, and loves to watch the monkeys at the zoo. He even blows raspberries on my legs, like I
do to his belly. This sends us both into
fits of laughter. And I don’t know that
I would change our story as awful as the memories are because I know I’d
appreciate him very differently without all the difficulty in getting him here. Our chain of love now bedecks his bedroom, a
daily reminder of how far we’ve come.
Labels:
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